Spicy Lamb Shanks
by l0chn3ss
Summary: One shot- Soul is inspired to cook spicy lamb shanks for dinner and motivated by another goal. T for swearing.


Soul sat up from the comforts of his couch and reached over to the remote on the coffee table, stabbing the off button as he dodged the corner of the table and threw the remote onto the cushions. He walked briskly, almost eager, to get to his kitchen. He sided stepped Blair's kitty basket and he jammed his hand into his pocket to reach his ipod nano. He pulled it out the yellow device and flicked the lock button to the right with his index finger. He leaned against the cold metallic sink and proceeded to search for the right playlist he created specifically for this occasion. _Perfect._

He reached to the left to turn on his last birthday's gift from Maka, a Bluetooth sound system. Its intentions were to keep him in the kitchen to cook dinner, but he never had a problem with doing that in the first place. It was just fun to tease Maka and whine a little while doing it.

Heavy bass, and by bass, he meant the actual string instrument not electronic disharmony, filled the room and a woman's voice rang through the air. Soul paused, letting the waves of the symphony wash over him and waiting for the tension to build in the song. Epic music was truly the best and when the violins picked up, Soul burst into action.

He reached for the pan underneath the counter, swinging the wooden door open and not caring if the pots clanged together when he pulled out his instrument. He felt the drums pushing him to the stove but he couldn't ignite the flames just yet. He preheated the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit and turned to the real matter at hand.

He pulled out the marinated lamb shanks he prepared earlier that day. It had spent the morning soaking in the aromatic spices: chilies, garlic, smoked paprika, oregano, cumin seeds, cinnamon, and a heavy dose of olive oil inside of the cool, dark refrigerator. The red meat was coated in a layer of spicy herbs, giving it a red glow. He took out the individual shanks and laid them out onto a plate, preparing them for the searing heat coming later, and poured the rest of the spices into a bowl to reuse from the Ziploc bag.

Head tucked into the refrigerator again, he searched the shelves for carrots and onions, pushing back the stalks of celery that Maka munched on during her nights of binge studying and the bag of fish Blair kept "just in case Soulie fails dinner". After finding the vegetables, he slammed the door shut, sealing off the cool air from the desert's heat.

He plucked the wooden cutting board from the drying rack and deposited his items to the left of the stove. He striped the onions of their dirty skin and threw the layer into the compost jar. He pushed the sink's faucet up with his elbow and scrubbed the grime off the carrots with the slippery pads of his fingers. Soul attacked every crease viciously until the carrot was squeaky clean, no critter or germ was going to touch his meister if he could help it. Flipping the stream off, he shook off the droplets from his hands, thinking to himself that this counted as washing his hands, and let them fall onto the ground. He thought for a moment and opened the drawer to his left. He pulled out a skinner, once again attacking the skin with vigor and throwing the shavings with the onion skin.

He slid over to the cutting board, following along with the bass, and enveloped a single finger in a curtain of light, phasing it into metal. Sliding the blade easily enough through the carrot with a crunch, he eyed the onion and squinted his eyes. No tears were going to fall today, he was simply too cool for that—though it didn't stop disobedient ones from clouding his vision when the deed was done.

He reached for the olive oil beside him and painted a picture of fluffy wings onto the surface pan and turned the knob of the left stove, feeling it flicker to life with the vibrations of the harmony. After blasting on the heat, he stared intensely at the surface until steam started escaping, just in time for the second song. Another perfect timing brought to you by the coolest weapon.

He brought his flesh back from metal to pick up a piece of lamb in each hand, letting them drop into the bubbling oil and coaxing the wonderful sound of sizzling meat into existence. He grabbed pongs off of the wall and turned the lamb occasionally in order to cook it evenly. He took a spoon and made sure to braise it thoroughly to fully absorb the rich flavors. He picked up the board and pushed the vegetables into the pan then poured the bowl of spices into the mix and was instantly hit with the lovely aroma, tickling his nose. He couldn't help but close his eyes for a bit to take in the moment, music and cooking—he was just too lucky.

He wiped off drool from the corner of his mouth, how uncool. He took a bottle of rich red wine from the cupboard and poured it into the pan, hearing it dull the sizzling and transferred the pan into the oven. He switched off the oven heat and let the lamb cook slowly, setting his timer to 3 hours and collapsed onto the couch. His cheek hit the remote and he shoved it away, letting sleep take over as he waited.

* * *

He woke up to his meister standing over him with her smiling face close to his. Maka removed her hand from his cheek and crossed the living room to reach the kitchen, holding the timer in her other hand.

She switched the track on his ipod to her pop mix and turned to him, "Two Steps From Hell?"

He grunted, "Puts me in a good mood."

Maka opened the cabinet to pull out two plates and set them on the table, "You don't usually make something this extravagant, what's the occasion?"

Soul rubbed sleep from his eyes and walked over to the oven, pulling the handle to reveal the spicy lamb shanks, cooked to perfection. "Just felt like it," he averted his eyes and searched the drawers for a large spoon, "Maybe it's because you got 110% on that test on Friday and beat Ox again."

She snorted, "I do that all the time."

She pulled out his chair so he could sit down and place down the dish onto the table. Maka handed him their plates one by one and Soul give each person a shank and a large spoon of the mushed vegis on the side. Maka set the plates back gently on the table and scooped both of them brown rice, more for her than him.

They ate in comfortable silent. Soul knew that Maka knew that Soul knew that she would give her review after the dish. That didn't stop him from trying to detect signs from her face, noting that she was smiling and eating more quickly than usual.

Both polished off their meal and Soul looked over to her patiently.

"I know you were watching Gordon Ramsey's cooking show in class on Thursday. You sit next to me remember?"

Soul leaned against the back of the chair and covered his eyes with the inside of his elbow, "Fucking death."

"It surpassed all expectations, Eater. The meat slid off the bone easily and it was packed with flavor. 5 out of 5," Maka folded her arms together and stared intently at her clean plate, "I want another."

Soul peeked and grinned smugly, "I'm going to have to buy more carrots."

Her head whipped up to Soul, then back at her plate, "—wah?"

Soul dropped his arm and rested his head against his fist, "Remember that bet we had last week? I told you I could make carrots taste good, even good enough for your picky self to eat."

Maka darted to the refrigerator, throwing the door open and letting it hit the wall next to it. Her eyes scanned the entire side and then slammed it shut. She practically teleported to the compost jar and shoved the lid off.

"Fucking death."


End file.
